


Alright

by wastetheyears



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bottom Sam Winchester, Cabin Fic, Episode: s15e20 Carry On, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Episode: s15e20 Carry On, Reunion Sex, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:27:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27784489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wastetheyears/pseuds/wastetheyears
Summary: “Sammy,” he smiles, and Sam’s heart convulses at the sound. No one has called him Sammy in the longest time.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Comments: 7
Kudos: 155





	Alright

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Так даже лучше](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27979158) by [Ksenia_Rodermell](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ksenia_Rodermell/pseuds/Ksenia_Rodermell)



Sam’s ascent into heaven, he thinks, is a spectacle of lights. It’s a flash of Earth, a flash of clouds, of atmosphere, of something ethereal. It’s bright lights, dim lights, star lights, serene lights. It ends in a brilliant strobe that whites out his vision, colors eating away at the edges until they fade into a picture. He’s on a bridge, in a succulent, beautiful seclusion. The daylight is fading and the water is a sparkling expanse around him, all narrowing down to a single silhouette. Black shirt, blue jeans. A pair of curved legs holding a leaning stance, propped up against the railing and gazing out over the water.

Sam’s breath is stolen from his lungs. _Dean._

He means to say it, wants to scream it, but he can’t move, can’t make his body do anything. It’s like he’s paralyzed in the moment, frozen in this reality he has been waiting on for forty-two years: the moment he’s reunited with his brother again. He thought he’d say everything, thought all the words he’d pent up for Dean would tumble out of his mouth with nothing to stop them, but in this moment, he can’t say a single one. In this moment, he can only stare in awe.

Like every other time Sam has fallen short, Dean is there to compensate. As if he senses Sam’s mere presence, he says, “Heya Sam,” before even turning around. Sam’s heart stops at the sound of his voice and starts pounding again as he turns around. Sam tries to soak it all in, every detail, to catalog it all for safe keeping. The crinkles around Dean’s eyes when he smiles that smile that’s only for Sam, the tilt of his lips. The sunwash of freckles over his nose. Every detail that has faded from his memory with age, the details that no cameras can capture perfectly.

“Dean,” Sam manages, eyes locked on Dean’s as he steps toward him. Dean glances him over for a moment, just a millisecond, really, and Sam can’t help the tearful smile breaking over his face as he watches Dean’s face split into a grin. He pulls Sam down into a tight embrace and Sam’s arms take a second to response, still shock-delayed in their movements, but when they do they coil snugly around Dean’s shoulders, fingers soaking in the warmth there. _Dean_ , Sam thinks, closing his eyes tightly against the tears that threaten to fall. He has waited so long for this, decades and decades, and he can’t believe that this is it, that he’s finally here.

Dean holds him for several seconds before pulling away to hold him at arm’s length. “Sammy,” he smiles, and Sam’s heart convulses at the sound. No one has called him Sammy in the longest time.

“Dean, I-“ Sam begins before catching a glimpse of his hands as they fall away from Dean’s back. He stares at them for a moment, furrowing his brow. Smooth, tanned skin. Straightening his back, he notices the glide of his muscles, how he’s able to stand up straight without the age-hobbled crook of a back broken by years of sweat labor.

“Dude, you okay?” Dean is giving him a weird look.

“Dean,” Sam breathes. “How. How old do I look?”

“What do you mean how old do you look? You look like you, man.”

“So, like, what? Late thirties?” Sam asks, excitement coloring his tone.

“Sure?”

“I... that’s great,” Sam smiles. Not that he thought Dean wouldn’t still love him at eighty, but being in his thirties sure beat his later years by a long shot.

“I’m guessing you lived that apple pie, then?” Dean asks, a smile playing at his lips. It’s all Dean ever wanted for him, and it’s all that kept Sam going some days. Most days.

“Yeah, um. Eighty.”

Dean lets out a low whistle. “Man, who would’ve thought. Sam Winchester: the Depends years.”

“Shut up,” Sam mutters. “So, really? I don’t look…”

“Like the old chick from Titanic? No. You look like you, Sam. Like I remember.”

Sam nods, then meets Dean’s eyes again, face falling. “Shit, Dean, I. I missed you so fucking much.”

Lips quirking in a sad smile, Dean nods. “I know. I’m sorry.” Trying to contain the swell of emotion in his chest, Sam purses his lips. When that doesn’t work, he lunges for his brother, cupping his jawline is his right hand and crushing their lips together.

Dean lets out a small sound of surprise before taking a small step back to correct their balance, one arm snaking around Sam’s waist while his other hand buries itself in his hair. He runs his tongue over Sam’s lips, applying gentle pressure and softening the kiss until it’s something pleasant and not bruising, until Sam keens at the deprivation of something more. At the whimper, Dean carefully parts Sam’s lips, tongue working at his with intense yet reserved force. Sam is grasping at his brother’s jacket, desperate for more, desperate for everything, but Dean is in control and he’s holding Sam together even though it feels like he’s about to fall apart.

Fingers fastening in Sam's flannel, Dean slowly pulls away. Letting out a small sound of panic at the sudden parting, Sam chases the kiss and Dean shakes his head with a small smile, pressing their foreheads together as Sam's fingers skim under the hem of his brother's shirt.

“Hey, kiddo, slow down,” Dean breathes, slight light coloring his tone. “We have time, Sammy.”

Sharp inhale cutting the charged air between them, Sam shakes his head, hair falling around both their faces. His fingers tangle in Dean's belt loops, gentle pulling him closer. “I don't need time, Dean. Not right now. I need you.”

After a moment, Dean pulls back slightly, meeting Sam's eyes. His lips are pressed together, conflict playing in his eyes. Relief floods Sam's body the second he sees his brother's resolve break. “You'll let me know?” he asks, voice firm as his eyes search Sam's face. “If it's too much, you'll let me know?”

“Yes,” Sam hisses, pressing their lips together briefly before pulling his brother back towards the Impala, throwing the back door open and scooting himself onto the bench seat. They've done this countless times before, on abandoned roads and crop-barren fields, but it has never felt like this. It has never felt quite so desperate, like decades culminating in a crash of bodies, of years of sorrow bursting into eternity. Sam listens impatiently as Dean rummages through the glove box, producing a familiar bottle of lube.

Sam crinkles his nose. “Dude, that bottle is ancient.”

“Nah,” Dean breathes, crawling over him in the back seat and making work of Sam's belt. “Time is different here. Plus, it's heaven. Things don't expire.” Sam shrugs off the point, because the alternative is waiting until they locate some other heaven-issued bottle of lube and that really isn't an option at all. His hands can't help but grasp at his brother's shoulders as Dean pulls his pants down, legs splaying wide and pleading.

“Dean,” he whines, need thick in his tone. Dean has abandoned him briefly to get undressed himself and Sam feels like he'll combust if he waits another a second.

“I know, Sammy, I know. I'm hurryin',” Dean murmurs, shucking his pants to the floor before turning his attention to the bottle. Sam shakes his head, clawing at Dean's shirt, needing to feel as much skin as possible. Dean mumbles something about public indecency but starts to wrestle Sam out of his own shirt.

“We're fucking in a car, Dean, I think we're already there,” Sam muses, earning himself a soft shove to the shoulder before Dean slicks up two fingers and shoves them between Sam's legs with no warning. Sam sucks in a deep breath, surprised at the sudden intrusion. “A little warning, Dean.”

“Oh, I'm sorry,” Dean smirks down at him, working him open. “I didn't realized you wanted me to take you out to dinner first.” Sam makes a face at him and his heart swells at the easiness and familiarity of it all. Any worries he had of the decades between them bringing awkwardness has dissipated. They're just Sam and Dean, same as they've always been, and it's all Sam has ever wanted.

By the time Dean inserts a third finger, Sam is cursing, working himself open on the fingers and begging for Dean. “Fuck me,” he whispers into the crook of Dean's neck when he swoops down for a long, dirty kiss. “C'mon, Dean. Need you.” Dean nods, removing his fingers to carefully and slowly guide his cock in. Sam's vision goes static at the edges, carefully adjusting back into full screen as Dean bottoms out.

“Fuck,” he hisses, pleasure crackling through his body, eyes wet with the emotion of the moment. He isn't going to last long.

“Y'alright?” Dean asks, holding himself completely still even though Sam can feel the tremors in his muscles it's taking to do so. Sam couldn't love him more.

“Yeah,” Sam rasps, sucking a kiss to his pulse point. “Yeah, go.”

And Dean does. Slow at first, then fast, leaving Sam a clawing mess of endearments, curse words, and, embarrassingly, tears.

“Sammy, you okay? We can stop-” Dean asks, eyes also damp, but full of concern.

“No,” Sam insists, shaking his head. “I'm good. It's good. I just. I missed you, Dean. So much. I'm sorry-”

Dean swipes his thumb under Sam's eyes, whisking away the tears. “Hey, no. Don't be sorry. I just. We can wait, man. If this is too much.”

“It's not,” Sam repeats, digging his heels hard into Dean's ass for effect and bucking his hips up hard. He watches as his brother's eyes roll back in his head and grins in satisfaction. Wrapping an arm around the back of his neck, he yanks his face close to his and whispers against his lips, “Come on. Fuck me,” before kissing him deep. Dean plunges his tongue into his mouth and snaps his hips forward and it only takes a few seconds before Sam is tumbling over the edge.

Dean holds him through it and Sam's body moves by its own accord, twisting and pumping until it works Dean to completion.

As Sam feels Dean pulsate inside him, he comes again.

After they come down, Dean stares at him a moment in disbelief before asking, “Did you just...”

“Multiple orgasms? I think so.”

“Well shit,” Dean laughs, the sound vibrating against Sam's sweaty chest from where Dean lay plastered. “Welcome to heaven, Sammy.”

Sam wraps his arms around his brother, fully content, grin on his face. “Guess so.”

“You know this means we're never leaving the bedroom, right?”

Sam laughs.

__________

After getting cleaned up and taking a short drive, Dean slows the Impala to a quiet rumble in the garage of a wooden cabin. From what Sam can tell, there aren't neighbors for miles, just lush trees and quiet dirt roads. It's serene and secluded, a quiet little oasis in the woods. Sam smiles at the thought of him and Dean staying here, just the two of them.

“Here it is,” Dean declares unnecessarily, like the ten minutes he spent rambling in the car about the cabin he had manifested for himself weren't introduction enough.

“It's nice.”

“You haven't seen it yet,” Dean rolls his eyes, stepping from the car. He watches Sam as he steps from the car, looking strangely apprehensive.

“I don't think you would have manifested a shithole for yourself to live it,” Sam smiles in what he hopes is a reassuring manner. Honestly, they could live in a tent for all Sam cares, as long as Dean is there with him.

“I know,” Dean fidgets, reaching for the door to the cabin. “I just. It's kind of small. If you want a bigger place, we can-”

“Dean. I'm sure it's great,” Sam interrupts, squeezing his brother's shoulder gently. Dean nods and turns the door knobs, opening the door to the cabin. It's cozy inside, a fireplace and wood-heavy décor. The floor plan is open , seamlessly flowing from room to room, and the kitchen is large and the clean, the couches big and comfy-looking. There is what looks to be a loft, presumably housing the loft, and there is a den lined in nearly empty floor-to-ceiling bookcases.

Dean notices him eyeing the book storage in awe. “I thought you might like the space for books. I don't have many yet, but I figured you could-”

“This is awesome, Dean,” Sam blurts, grin spreading across his face. “Really. I love it.” At this, Dean lights up.

“Yeah? I tried to pick things you would want, too. Like I said, if you want to change anything, we can. Or if you want a new place.”

“It's perfect,” Sam reiterates sincerely, pulling his brother in a tight hug and pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “Add some books and it will be perfect.” It's then that Sam notices the insistent weight at his feet, excitedly pawing at his legs.

“Miracle!” he exclaims, reaching down and petting at the storm of fur as he thrashes around in excitement. “I missed you buddy.”

“Yeah, he showed up a bit after I got here,” Dean smiles, arms crossed across his chest as he watches the two of them interact.

“Five years.”

“What?”

“He passed five years after you did,” Sam clarifies, glancing up at his brother from his knelt position.

“Oh. Like I said, time is different here. I don't think it flies by for everyone, not like that anyway. Only when you're waiting for someone. At least that's what Bobby said.”

“Bobby?” Sam asks, crinkling his forehead in confusion.

“Oh,” Dean says again. “Yeah. Heaven is different now. Jack and Cas, they changed it. It's no longer the greatest hits soundtrack. It's more like Earth, in a way. Everyone is just here, doing what they please. You don't just relive memories.”

“I guess that makes sense,” Sam nods slowly. “The bridge didn't look familiar. And this doesn't. But, wait. Jack? Cas? I thought Cas was in The Empty.”

“Jack saved him. They rebuilt heaven together.”

“Have you seen them?” Sam asks, hope rising in his tone, especially at the thought of seeing Jack again.

Dean shrugs. “Seen Jack a couple times. He's keeping busy. Seen Cas a bunch. Seen everyone a bunch.”

“Is that awkward?” Sam asks, cool jealousy biting at the edges of him at the thought of Cas seeing Dean while Sam was stuck on Earth. “Seeing Cas?” The last time Dean had seen Cas on Earth, Cas had convinced his love for him and while Sam hadn't been complete shocked, Dean had been blindsided. Everyone is a little in love with Dean, Sam figures. Still doesn't make it fun to hear.

“A bit at first. I don't know. He hasn't really brought it up and I'm sure as hell not going to, either.” Sam nods, and a silence ensues. “Speaking of,” Dean says after a moment. Sam's eyes snap to his. “Did you, you know. Find anyone? After.”

Sam swallows. After. After Dean died in his arms, he means. “No,” he manages after a beat, voice unsteady. “No, I. Not even a one night stand.”

Dean for his part, looks sad. “I meant it when I said I was good with it, Sammy. I wanted you to move on, have a family, have kids-”

“Oh I had a kid,” Sam blurts, and Dean furrows his brow, looking at him, confused.

“Adopted?”

“No, he's mine. Biological.”

Dean stares at him a moment, obviously perplexed. “I know I was never that good in school, Sam, but I'm pretty sure-”

“I had a friend, Shae. She was lesbian.”

A wide smarmy grin splits Dean's face. “Al-right, Sammy!”

Exasperated, Sam continues, “We did IVF, Dean.”

“Oh. So you,” Dean makes a vague jacking off gesture and Sam wrinkles his nose in disgust.

“I gave a sample, yes.”

“A _sample,”_ Dean teases, all of seven years old.

“ _Anyway_ ,” Sam stresses, shooting his brother an irritated look. “His name is Dean. Call him DJ. Named him after you,” all traces of teasing fade from Dean's face at that. “He's so much like you, man. You will love him.”

“That's. That's great, Sammy,” Dean says thickly, glancing away. “Knew you'd be a great dad.”

“Learned from the best,” Sam says sincerely, blinking hard. “I didn't raise him to be a hunter. He knows about it. He knows enough to be safe, but I didn't want-”

“No, that's good,” Dean smiles, nodding. “That's the best thing you could have done.” Sam's eyes sting at the affirmation. He had always known in his heart Dean would have approved, had always made every choice in his life with the thought in the back of his mind of making his brother proud, but to hear that hunch affirmed, it means everything.

“What about you?” Sam asks after a beat, Dean's eyes snapping to his. “Any heavenly hook ups?”

“Nah,” Dean shakes his head, and Sam figured as much, but it's good to hear, selfish as it may be. “Was too busy waiting on your ass.”

Sam smiles, taking a seat on the couch and moaning slightly as he sinks in. Dean grins.

“Comfy, right?”

“Sure beats motel futons,” Sam agrees. Hell, it beats the garage sale couch he had in his house back in Texas.

“So what do you want to do?” Dean asks, taking a seat beside him and kicking his feet up. He's holding out a cold beer for Sam, cap already popped, and Sam takes it with a thankful smile. “We can visit anyone you want. Mom. Dad. Bobby. Anyone.”

Sam's heart twists at the thought of leaving this little bubble with Dean, this perfect world of just the two of them. “Stay here,” he says honestly, earning a raised eyebrow from his brother. “At least for a while. A few days. I just. I want to spend some time, just the two of us, if that's alright?” The unspoken _catch up on lost time_ hangs between them, but he never had to speak those words to Dean, always knew they were just understood.

Dean smiles around the brim of his beer, taking a long swig before nodding and saying, “Yeah, Sammy. That's alright.”


End file.
